


Habits

by innusiq



Series: Pre-Serum Problems [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Slash, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innusiq/pseuds/innusiq
Summary: 01/06/1941:  Today, Steve was forced to stay home because Bucky noticed his cough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Part six of a series of ficlets inspired by [todays-skinny-steve](http://todays-skinny-steve.tumblr.com) tumblr page that chronicles Pre-Serum Steve's day to day life beginning 01/01/1941. I continue to thank this tumblr user immensely for allowing me to use their posts as inspiration, and apologize for my slow right time!

The thing about having a chronic illness is that it isn’t uncommon for the person suffering from such ailment to not notice symptoms of _something worse_ or completely unrelatable to their daily struggles. When you are a person who suffers multiple chronic illnesses, any kind of pre-self-diagnosis can take a little longer too. Case in point, it’s not uncommon for Steve to wake with a cough, or a backache, or even a headache due to the many medical issues he’s been saddled with in life, so to him, as he putters around the apartment that morning before heading out for work, his coughing doesn’t even register to being anything outside of the daily norm. It isn’t until Bucky’s return from his own venture down the hall to get ready for work that his friend stops him from heading down the hall to the common bath that Steve realizes anything might be up.

“Wha – Buck?”

Bucky’s dressed in his work clothes (dark grey pants that have seen better days and a nearly matching colored button-down shirt that looks just as worn and dingy) and has a sour look on his face as his hand presses against Steve’s forehead, and then down to his cheek, obviously testing his temperature.

“Bucky, I’m fine,” Steve argues (before the argument has even begun) and shakes off Bucky’s hand.

“Yer coughin’,” interjects Bucky, the sour look taking on an accusatory glare. 

Steve shakes his head, stepping away from Bucky and attempting to walk around him. “I’m always coughin’, Buck. Ain’t nothin’ new here.”

Bucky grabs hold of Steve’s arm, stopping his movements. “Yeah, I know, but it’s different t’day.” 

“Buck, come on, I gotta get ready fer work,” Steve tries to shake Bucky off, but his friend is just as stubborn and bullheaded as Steve can be. 

“I think ya should stay home,” Bucky suggests, Steve not missing the gentle tone his friend uses, knowing full well Steve is going to fight him on it, in probable hopes of diffusing the situation before it starts.

“I’m fine, Buck,” he insists, giving his arm another shake, this time getting Bucky to let go but then it only aggravates his chest and he goes through a coughing fit, which only proves Bucky’s point and pisses Steve off.

Bucky attempts saying something, but in the end only sighs deeply. His friend doesn’t move to touch Steve either, letting the fit take it’s course as they both know from experience that the current circumstances have nothing to do with his asthma. 

Steve is silently grateful to Bucky in that small moment alone.

“Buck, I can’t miss work again,” Steve begins his argument through a strained voice. “Not so soon after last month. Mr. Henderson is just looking fer a reason to let me go. If that happens, then where will it leave us?”

The resolve in his friend’s eyes softens, but it isn’t because Bucky’s about the let Steve get his way, not by a long shot. They’ve known each other far too long to ever underestimate what they are thinking and planning. Hell, half the time Steve is amazed Bucky is there to pull him out of a fight his friend had no idea was taking place to begin with. _Call it Steve-tuition_ , Bucky would joke as he dabbed at scraps with disinfectant and bandaged Steve up best he could. _If I can’t find ya, I go lookin’ and I know all yer battle grounds_.

“We’d manage,” Bucky finally answers, not denying the fact that if Steve did call off, there would be a possibility of him being out of a job. “We always do.”

“ _We_ shouldn’t,” Steve returns stubbornly, arms crossing against his chest, probably looking like some sort of sad, petulant child.

“And _we_ aren’t gonna have this argument again,” Bucky returns, crossing his own arms but not looking anything like a child. “Just get back into the goddamn bed and let me worry about things.”

“I’m not a child!”

“Yeah, well yer sounding like one.”

Steve stands up straighter, causing his back to pinch and his breathing to become a little shallower but not backing down. He just barely restrains himself from putting up his fists, ready to fight his best friend.

“Yeah, well yer soundin’ like every asshole bully I’ve ever had ta fight.”

The words are out there, faster than the best right hook, and once they are there is no taking them back. He can see the impact they make, harder than a fist, harder than any punch or kick Steve has ever been delivered, because for once it looks like Bucky’s out of breath. 

“Buck… I didn’t…” And Steve really and truly didn’t mean to insinuate that about Bucky at all. He was just mad, angrier than a bothered hornet’s nest, and it isn’t so much at Bucky but at himself. He didn’t mean to lash out at Bucky, but he did and he feels terrible about it.

Bucky backs away with a hand out stretched to stall Steve’s movements forward, shaking his head in warning before turning his back and muttering a quiet, “Go.”

Steve, for once, does what he’s told. He grabs a few items to take down the hall to the communal bath, and leaves their apartment with hands shaking where they grip at his musty towel and puny soap bar. When he gets to the bath, Steve’s thankful there isn’t anyone else using it and quickly scrubs at his face, ignoring the watery eyes he catches in the mirror before splashing at his face. When he’s made as presentable as he ever could be, Steve takes a moment to stare at his reflection in the mirror and can’t help the overwhelming loathing settling over him. He doesn’t like what he sees. He never likes what he sees. All he ever sees in himself is a burden. It’s all he’s ever been in this life, to his mother until the day she died and now to his best friend who is too noble to turn back on a promise yet way too young to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Bucky’s too young to be saddled with the burden of taking care of someone like Steve Rogers, who in the end doctors continue claiming _will barely make it into his thirties_ adding, _it’s nothing short of a miracle he’s made it thus far_. Steve sniffles then again, wiping at his nose with the back of his wrist before shifting those thoughts and steeling himself to return to the apartment.

He quietly turns their loose doorknob (the one Bucky keeps meaning to fix) and pushes the door open slowly, as if he might spook an animal by opening it too swiftly or by making too much noise. Thankfully, Bucky is still inside, standing by the open kitchen window with his back to the door, blowing smoke out in frustration. It’s a dirty habit Bucky tends to fall back on when life gets frustrating (as it tends to more often than not), and while they both know it isn’t good for Steve’s asthma, being subjected to it, asking Bucky to stop is the last thing Steve would ever do. It’s a concession Steve refuses to ask because first and for most, it’s Bucky’s life and if he wants to smoke he will damn well be allowed to smoke, and secondly, Steve being a part of Bucky’s life demands so much from his friend already in their day to day living, the last thing he would ever do is take away this one, small act that Bucky clearly needs.

After hanging his towel over the radiator to dry, and setting the soap bar next to the kitchen sink, Steve walks up behind Bucky and wraps his arms around his stomach, pressing his cheek just below Bucky’s shoulder blade, feeling the final exhale before Bucky puts out the unfinished cigarette (to save for another trying day no doubt) and closes the window. Steve releases a shaky breath, the scent of smoke faint but still there, still part of Bucky, and it makes him feel guilty having driven Bucky to the vice.

“I didn’t mean it, Buck,” Steve says quietly. “I swear, yer not…"

“Sure ya did,” Bucky interjects before Steve can finish. “And yeah, maybe I am an asshole sometimes, but I only got yer best interest in mind. You _know_ that.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve agrees through a tight throat. “I worry about ya, too, working so much when I can’t. It ain’t fair you always havin’ to pick up my slack.”

“I don’t mind,” Bucky admits while turning around, hands grasping Steve by his biceps and holding him at arms length to meet his eyes. “How many times I gotta tell ya, there is no you without me an’ there’s no me without you. Yer stuck with me, Pal, mother hen complex and all.”

He offers Bucky a smile that he knows is sad, and a little lopsided because he doesn’t deserve this man as his best friend. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Now,” Bucky continues, beginning to steer Steve over to the couch. “Will ya please listen to me, and take it easy today? I’ll go talk to Bernadette over the next block, see if she’ll cover yer shift today. Mr. Henderson can’t get too fussed if yer making sure the work’s getting’ done.”

“How ya gonna do that?”

Bucky’s smile is blinding, devastatingly so, and Steve doesn’t really need the answer to his question. He’d say yes to anything Bucky would ask if it was accompanied by that smile. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t even need the smile to say yes sometimes.

“Well, I have heard I can be quite the charmin’ fella,” Bucky teases with a smirk and wink. “An offered night of dancin’ might do the trick too.”

He returns Bucky’s smile, maybe not as blindingly, because he doesn’t like the idea of Bucky having to offer such things on Steve’s behalf, especially when thinking about Bucky and some dame cutting the rug for the night (and who knows what else), settles a hot rock in his stomach that aches worse than the ulcers he already suffers from. Steve smiles because it’s the reaction Bucky expects, and he smiles because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Ah,” Bucky says, ruffing up Steve’s hair to dismiss the offering. “Ain’t no reason to thank me. Doin’ this fer me as much as you, to be honest. Can’t have my best guy gettin’ all sick again, now can I?”

Steve blushes at the tease about being Bucky’s _best guy_ , ducking his head at the sound of Bucky’s chuckles. If only he could be Bucky’s best guy, in all sense of the meaning, but he ain’t stupid or naïve enough to believe he could be anything more than Bucky’s _best friend since childhood_. Steve sees himself as much of a habit to Bucky as those damn cigarettes, a habit Bucky is unable to quit no matter how hard he might try, and for as much as Steve wishes Bucky could give him up, for as much as Steve tries to push Bucky away time and again, he’s grateful to Bucky’s stubborn weakness of not being able to give him up all the same too.


End file.
